


strumpet song

by Apricot



Series: Bedroom Hymns [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Absolutely no plot, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Crying, Dark Side Rey, F/M, Face-Sitting, Femdom, Jedi Ben Solo, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Unwilling Arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-06 23:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apricot/pseuds/Apricot
Summary: Kira keeps the Jedi for herself.





	strumpet song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tristesses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/gifts).



> "Mark, I cry, that mouth/ Made to do violence on." -- "Strumpet Song" by Sylvia Plath.

The First Order forces are still scrambling after their hasty jump to hyperspace.

Lady Kira had given the order as soon as she’d been on board, not caring if all units reporting had returned back in time. If they were left behind...well, if they were left behind, they should’ve been faster.

The Resistance had caught up with them at Takodana, and they wouldn’t have been able to hold their position now that the element of surprise had worn off. But Takodana now meant less than nothing. Not when her men had reported back _who’d_ they’d managed to collect off the battlefield.

One of the Jedi that had so plagued the First Order from the start. One of Luke Skywalker’s _prodigies._ One of the legacies the New Republic boasts despite the fact it had been formed in the aftermath of the Jedi's obsession with bloodlines and power. 

Kira had been tasked to capture as many of the New Jedi that she could. At worst, to remove them from the playing field.

But this is far better. This is what she’s hoped for. She hasn’t just captured one of Skywalker’s students, or one of his foundlings with the most rudimentary knowledge of how to float pebbles and mediate for a few hours. She’s done so, so much more; the Supreme Leader would be pleased.

With this prisoner, they have the key to the end of the Resistance. With the knowledge this Jedi had in his head, they can wipe out the disorganized forces of opposition and take control of the Senate and the New Republic. And the First Order will be able to finally bring their peace to the galaxy.

Or order, or hope, or normalcy, or whatever rhetoric Hux is spewing this week. Kira’s curiosity has eclipsed her patience once more. It’s something she’ll have to be careful to conceal from the Supreme Leader. He’s already remarked on this perceived _weakness,_ her childhood fondness for the stories of the Rebellion and its heroes, before Lord Snoke had taught her better. And isn’t her new prisoner the very epitome of those stories? The child and heir of all those heroes, in one living embodiment-- it must be nice to know exactly what his place is in the world. To have a millennia of legacy, to guide and protect him. Not like every other living creature in the galaxy, who had to scrap and fight and _take_ what they could in order to get by. Not like Kira had had to fight, until Lord Snoke had taken her as his apprentice and taught her the true power of the Force.

In fact, she realizes, she _hates_ this Jedi. She lets that feed her as she enters the small interrogation room.

The stormtroopers posted at the door barely flinch as she waves them out, and she waits until the door shuts with a hiss behind them before turning her head in the direction of the prisoner.

He’s big, and annoyingly as tall as she’d imagined a child of heroes would be. They’ve strapped him to a vertical platform, hands bound slightly above his head. Perhaps Hux would have preferred something like a containment field, but he isn’t here. Kira is.

And she can handle him.

His gaze tracks her immediately-- clear and intelligent. Dark hair that falls across his forehead and into his eyes. He looks...well, he looks like the holos she’s seen on and off, all her life.

She’d spent the lives of nearly 30 stormtroopers to take him alive. And it would be worth it, if he could lead her to the rest of the Resistance.

She makes her face impassive beneath the hood she wears, concealing her expression enough that it gives her time to study him, even if he doesn’t look unsettled. He looks...resigned. And annoyed. That surprises her.

She doesn’t say anything. Her home planet _and_ Lord Snoke had taught her patience. And sure enough--

“This is a waste of time.”

She cocks her head slightly.

The Jedi huffs. His robe is similar to the one she’s seen holos of Luke Skywalker wear, although this covers a black flightsuit. Understandable, considering that they’d had to first shoot him down from his X-Wing before collecting him on the ground. _That_ part had cost them more assets than Kira was ready to account for.

“I’m not going to tell you anything,” he cuts. “So you might as well kill me.”

There’s a trace of cockiness in that last part, like he very much knows that’s not on the table. Kira clenches her teeth.

“Kill you?” she says anyway, just to open the dialogue. “I’m not going to kill you.”

He doesn’t seem to be impressed by the threat. Still, it’s a pleasurable jolt when he narrows his eyes at her. “Kira, right?”

“ _Lady_ Kira.”

“Right,” he says, clearly not planning on following through with the title. “Well, I’m His Supreme Majesty I-Haveth-No-Time-For-This, so now that we know each other--”

“I already know who you are. Ben Solo.” It’s hard not to relish saying his name. She chastises herself, and steps forward. “I have to say, after all the stories, I’m really not impressed.”

This wipes the arrogance off his expression, at least a little. He glares at her. “Likewise. I thought that Lady Ren was supposed to be some kind of new Sith, not just a kid playing at tricks she doesn’t understand--”

His head slams back against the platform, the force of Kira’s power cutting off his retort with a heavy _thunk._ It works. He stops talking in order to hiss in pain, and she straightens to her full height before pulling the hood off her head.

When he finally opens his eyes again, another retort already half-formed on his lips, he falters. Kira watches him take in her face for the first time.

“Where is Skywalker?” she asks. “Where is the Resistance?”

Solo just shakes his head. “They were back on Takodana, weren’t they? Shooting down all your ships and frying your men?”

This time, she uses her hand. It’s no problem to summon up the rage to power her connection to the Force after his comments, but it also pleases her to bring the back of her hand hard against his sharp cheekbone. This blow snaps his head to the side.

For a second, he seems dazed-- she’s hit him in the head twice, which isn’t good for an interrogation, _stupid_ \-- but he recovers. She enjoys watching him slowly suck in a breath. The hit hasn’t split his lip, but there definitely will be a bruise to discolor his pale skin in a little while.

Fine. She wouldn’t ask. Maybe he’d prefer it if she uses her _tricks._

She steps closer, and Solo’s eyes go wide for just an instant-- her proximity triggering something in him-- before she closes her eyes.

The Force is like a living, breathing thing, and the Supreme Leader has taught her well. She presses her awareness into his-- _Where is the Resistance, where is Skywalker, where are your friends--_ and touches his mind.

His mind is...she tastes it for the first time, the shields surrounding it. It’s like moving through water, like cutting into bacta with her lightsaber, only for it to be instantly snuffed out. She huffs. So instead she moves like sand, like heat, throwing her own anger into him to burn it away.

She can feel him. Sense him. And below that frustration, the cockiness, the anger-- she burns it away and feels what she’d been expecting.

Fear.

_Where is the Resistance?_

He resists her, though. She hisses softly, and keeps her eyes closed as she presses closer to him, reaching up to close her hand around his throat.

Instantly, the skin-to-skin contact sharpens everything. She feels it spiral into him, her own anger, her frustration, her rage, his fear, and...more. Oh, so much more.

“ _You,”_ she breathes, before she opens her eyes, widening them. “ _You’re afraid.”_

He’s close enough she can feel his breath against her skin, but she doesn’t lean back. The taste of his fear, of his mind against hers...she’s never felt anything like it. The Supreme Leader was like a hot blaze of pain in her head, the other minds in the First Order ranging from mere annoyances to presences that made her feel oily, dirty-- but his is the first that feels clear, open. Like cool, green leaves against her heat.

“What are you afraid of?” she murmurs. She’s to give him to the Supreme Leader when they reach Starkiller. But that isn’t what she senses now.

She pushes deeper. Presses closer.

And falls against something she _hadn’t_ been expecting. His surprise at her face. His intrigue, when he’d first heard of her. And...and now, the attraction, the kind he’s always been taught to instantly avoid. That the power in him is more potent than blood, and now it’s in tune with her mind, and she can sense…

Her hands slide to his collarbone, then down, finding the folds of his robe and slowly untying them. He _jolts_ under her hands, breaking the connection of their minds, but not before she sees. Not before she knows.

“Oh,” she says, and has to resist the urge to _grin._ “You’re afraid of this.”

That’s interesting.

“I’m _not_ ,” he hisses, finally finding his words, and Kira resists the urge to laugh.

“I didn’t realize the New Jedi Order still followed the old ways.” The flightsuit is more difficult, but but now she knows the key to unraveling his mind lays this way...well, it should be more disappointing than it is.

This hadn’t been part of her training under the Supreme Leader. But Kira had access to more resources in the might of the First Order, instead of the dirty backwater planet she’d been consigned to before Lord Snoke had found her. She's learned a few things on her own.

“Tell me,” she says, almost conversationally. “Where’s the Resistance?”

He doesn’t answer her, but she isn’t expecting him to, really.

She rakes her fingernails gently down his sternum, barely a tease, and is gratified when he still sucks in a breath and the muscles of his abdomen go taunt. The skin here is even paler than his face-- which is actually getting quite flushed now-- and his arms, which show evidence of  occasionally being exposed in the sun. It makes the trail of dark hair that dips down and disappears into his pants all the more evident.

He flinches back as her fingertips reach just below his navel. She shrugs and smiles up at him. “Tell me, and you can go back to upholding your ridiculous vows.”

Solo huffs, his mouth working in a tight line. Apparently he can be silent, when it suits him. Kira leans in closer.

He _is_ handsome, in a strange, angular way, that she doesn’t want to take her eyes off of. Her eyes scan over his features again, the furrowed brow, the red flush of his mouth as he glares at her. She can still feel that connection of their minds. The way his Force signature seems printed against hers, now.

She keeps her eyes on his face as she slides her hand down, to cup him through the flightsuit.

He gasps, and it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard. He isn’t hard, but that can be remedied. She can feel that spark of _fear_ and it ignites her in turn.

“ _Now, remember what the Jedi say about physical distractions,’_ she teases, just to see if she can provoke him.

It works. He flushes, and that-- oh, maybe that is the sweetest thing she’s seen in a long, long time. The red seems to creep out from his ears and paint across his cheekbones.

“Tell me. Does not being attached mean that you need to deny yourself _everything?”_

Her hand is moving now. Slowly, a slow stroke over his clothes. He tries to draw back, but it’s nearly impossible with his current position and the way he’s bound on the platform.

“ _Stop. It.”_

“Answer the question.”

The Jedi grits his teeth, glaring at her. There’s still fear, and now there’s anger to match, and-- she senses the depth and breadth of it through the Force, and it makes her catch her breath.

“No.”

“But you have. Or rather-- you _haven’t,_ had you?’

Kira already knows the answer to this. But it’s perfect, watching his face change. And-- oh, the feeling of his cock, starting to harden against her hand. He sucks in a sharp breath.

“Tell me why.”

When he doesn’t say anything, she slips hand down, into the flightsuit, skating over the heat of his flesh to touch him. And this time he _jerks_ against his restraints. They hold. They’ve been made to hold.

He burns against her palm, though, and for a second she forgets about Skywalker and the Resistance because she enjoys the way he strains, against the binders, against her hand. “Tell me.”

“There’s already...too much,” he mutters, through his teeth. She pauses to encourage him a little more. He’s flushing again, even more, and he can’t meet her gaze. “Because...I already have enough to worry about.”

How _very_ interesting. She exhales softly, studying him a long moment.

She slowly shifts down, unraveling the flightsuit as she does. “Where is the Resistance?”

For all that she’s asked this question before, it seems to stump him. He stares at her, lips parted, shocked and surprised and--

She doesn’t wait for his response. This time, she leans forward, pressing her lips to the head of his cock, softly.

The sound Solo makes...she’ll remember it. It’s as if he’s dragged it from the very pit of his chest, and she closes her eyes as she leans in, drawing her tongue along the line of his erection. He’s big, and growing harder with every pass of her lips, filling out quick enough that she _knows_ he must be getting more light-headed with every second.

But they would have time for more questions later. His gasps, the shocked notes of surprise as she leans forward and takes him a little deeper, are far, far more satisfying.

And the fear. If this was something he shies away from to keep himself closer to the Light, away from whatever _temptations_ Skywalker was concerned about...well.

Her hand pumps him in time with her mouth, and it must be overwhelming. She looks back up at him from her position on the floor, and the expression on his _face…_ . That arrogant, conceited expression, so at ease with his place in the Resistance and the galaxy and on the side of the Light _..._ it’s been wiped away.

She makes herself ease back, releasing him with a low _pop_ that tears a gasp from above. If this is the first time someone’s taken him like this, if this is maybe the first time he’s _ever_ had this... he’s going to come like this, and soon. And that isn’t part of her plan. Her hand curls against his abdomen again before she drags a fingernail down his skin.

She makes it sharp. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him hiss again and momentarily distract him. Enough to raise a red welt against that pale, pale skin. She draws a horizontal line, and then a diagonal one, and watches the the blood rush to fill the surface before she ducks her head again. She doesn’t take him deep this time, only captures the head of his cock between her lips.

His head falls back, his teeth gritting as if steeling himself for the next onslaught, but instead she only sucks him slowly, shallowly, working her tongue along the underside of his cock. When he finally arches his hips, silently begging her to go deeper, she releases him. The first letter is already a nice welt on his skin, and she traces it with a fingertip before she starts to carve the next one. He gasps, his eyes flicking open.

“ _Kira--”_

The realization slowly flooding him. It’s wonderful. She smiles.

After the second letter, she doesn’t even give him her mouth. She grips him with her fist, and this time he doesn’t try to hold back, desperate for her touch, for her to bring him off, but she shoves his hips to the mat with a curling tendril of the Force, and _squeezes._ When he finally lays still, she starts again, pumping him in her fist but lightly, lightly enough that he can’t come, can’t find the friction he needs.

When she takes her hand away, he _moans._ The way it resonates through him, the way he swallows it back, tries to force it down-- it affects her. The last letter is five lines, and her breath is faster when she scratches them deep. She sits back on her heels to inspect them, and then-- only then-- does she realize that she’s written her old name. The dead name. As if she were still in the desert, still eking out scraps and claiming him for salvage.

He notices, too. Her surprise gives him too much time to look, to read it, and he’s clever enough to figure out the Aurabesh letters, even reading upside down.

“ _Rey,”_ he says, and then looks at her. “ _You--”_

She slams his head back against the board with a thought, angry suddenly at herself-- and at him. At the way her internal muscles have tightened. Before he can rebound, before he can think too long on her mistake, she takes him into her mouth again and takes him _deep._ He’s caught off guard, she can feel it in the sudden flinch of his hips against her hands. She swallows him down, her body’s panic at the lack of air channeled into her grip on the Force. She leaves him there, pulsing in her throat, for bare seconds before she eases back with a gasp, as he pants hollowly. He’s nearly there.

She presses down on the head of his cock with her fist, forcing his seed back, and he strains against her hold, nearly insensible as he tries to arch into her fist. She jerks her hand free and presses a soft, mocking kiss to his hip instead, so far away from where he wants her.

The hollow sob it tears from him almost makes her mistake worth it.

She kisses his skin, the letters, and shifts higher to map his abdomen and chest as she waits for him to recover a little, for the danger to pass. She’s nearly standing and her mouth is nearly to his collarbone before he finds his words again.

“ _Please,”_ he manages, and she shivers. “ _Please--”_

“Please what?”

He hesitates. And she has to resist the urge to smile, leaning up on her toes to kiss his neck.

“ _You don’t know, do you?”_ she hums. “ _You don’t know if you want me to stop or if you should beg me to finish you.”_

This close, she can _hear_ him swallow as he tries to steel himself. To his credit, he manages some actual emotion in the words to make them taste like less of a lie. “ _I want you to stop.”_

“No,” she whispers, because she can. He shudders, and she feels it hit her bloodstream like a drug. He can deny it all he wants, but he feels it too. She knows he does. “ _Beg me.”_ She presses her mouth to his ear. _“Beg me to finish it. Ask me to suck your cock.”_ The words are a little awkward in her mouth, but it’s worth it for his reaction, for the shocked hitch of his breath. _“Tell me you want me to take your cock so deep you shoot down my throat.”_

He’s gone so still she thinks he’s stopped breathing. Kira turns her head to taste the sweat gathering under his jaw, her tongue on his skin. “ _Say it, Ben.”_

He swallows, opens his mouth-- but no words. That vow, that damned vow, the one he’s clinging to with the very tips of his fingers. It’s not unimpressive. She does smile, then, kissing his cheek, the corner of his mouth, before ghosting over his lips and the words he’s too afraid to say. Her fingertips trace along his shoulders, mapping the sheer breadth of him.“ _Or maybe you want to come on my tongue instead--”_

Part of her wants him to beg her for this, so badly. Part of her wants to do it anyway, but it would be sweeter-- so much sweeter-- to force him to beg first.

And then she’d give him what he wanted. Maybe.

But he doesn’t beg. Instead, she’s the one who bends. His breath is dancing against her mouth and it’s too much. Her taunts trail off and she kisses him, the pressure oddly sweet, almost chaste until she slides her tongue into his mouth. Her hands skim up along the sides of his neck, making him bend down a little as she rises to her toes.

His mouth is hot. It’s burning against hers, and it’s like the Force rises up as she coaxes him into a response, swirling through her like a current. His warmth, and Light, against her darkness. Not that all of it was Light-- she can sense more in him, a hunger awakening at the very heart of him, like the early sparks of a forest fire. If he could give into it, if she could stoke it…

She rakes her nails down his chest.

He groans, and the sound is so low and broken, vibrating against her mouth, that Kira forgets about the mission. And the Force. And everything else.

It’s like everything comes into balance, with one flawless point in the universe between them. His mouth. Hers. She forgets _herself_ . And maybe he does too, because when her lungs burn and she tries to lean back to take a breath, Ben _surges_ forward. His lips, her lips, clack against teeth and she’s jerked back into another kiss, fiercer and harder than before. She tastes the faintest trace of copper but it’s instantly forgotten as he kisses her like he’s stealing her breath from her body and she wants to give it to him, give it all to him. Her head swims. She wants to give him _everything._

 _Force._ She jerks back violently, panting hard as she comes down on her heels. She understands Snoke’s warnings more now. He’s dangerous.

The only consolation is that he looks just as dazed, and she slides her hands down over his chest gently now, perspiration making it easy for her to trace over the muscle before making herself pull her hands away.

“ _Rey,”_ he starts, and she glares. ”Kira. Please. It doesn't...it doesn’t have to be like this. We could…”

She presses the side panelling and enters in a few commands. The platform he’s strapped to jerks, and he flinches, but it’s just a mechanical, smooth decline, the faint hiss of the hydraulics stirring the way his hair has fallen slightly over his eyes. She raises her hands to the clasp at the small of her back, undoing and discarding it.

“We could be together. You don’t have to be alone.”

At that, her gaze jerks up to his. _Alone._ The word stings. Trust Solo to find his mark without even looking for it. She presses her lips into a line, remembers the cut, and worries it instead as she tugs her tunic over her head.

“Like you're not, you mean,” she finally spits. “With the murderers, traitors, and thieves you call friends. The religious fanatics that make up your Jedi _Order--”_

The tunic falls to the ground. She’s naked. She’s naked, and he’s trembling-- she can sense he wants to look at her, but instead he keeps his eyes on hers. “No. ”

The word feels raw, from the bottom of his throat, and she resents the way it scrapes along her skin, because it’s a lie. “You have no idea what it’s even like to _be_ alone--”

“Don’t I?”

It’s the way he says it. And it’s the way she can’t shake that connection, the way he manages to work inside her veins, her nerve endings. Suddenly, she can see Ben Solo-- broken fragments of a thousand moments, developing a power he couldn’t understand, managing the fear of the people who professed to love him, trapped under a geas he never even asked for. _Fear and pain and power, and for what? For who? For a name he could never fully honor, for deeds he could never hope to outdo, for people who expected him to live up to near-mythic parentage and still manage control, his control, always control, always--_

She wants him. And, for a moment, she hates him. They might both be alone-- but if he had come for her earlier, if he had found her instead of Snoke--

 _No._ She forces herself to discontinue that train of thought. _It didn’t matter now._

The platform is level to her waist, now, and she lets it sink a few inches lower so she can easily brace herself, kneeling and pulling herself up in one smooth motion so she’s straddling his waist. His eyes instantly flit to her face as his breath hitches, and she revels in the new vantage point for a second before shifting back.

Her ass brushes against his cock-- still impossibly hard-- and it makes her breath catch.

Below her, up close, he seems even bigger. Her fingertips trace his sides, his arms. He has to lean up a little, off the platform, to look at her-- and he does, finally abandoning his resolution to keep his eyes on her face. His gaze sweeps over her, bared skin, small breasts-- and she watches in fascination as his fingers curl into his palms.

She leans back against the hard length of his erection again. Just brushing against him. She’s already soaked, she can feel her arousal sticking to her thighs, and she slides her hand down to feel herself. A shiver runs through her and she watches him watch her, her fingertips sliding through her folds so, so easily.

The hunger in his expression-- it’s just hers, reflected back. But as she grips him, slowly drags the thick, delicious length of him against her, something like panic touches his features instead.

“ _Kira--”_ His breath hitches. “--Please. Not like this...”

"Where is the Resistance?" she says carelessly, because at this moment she could care less. She isn’t going to be denied this. Not when she wants it so badly. Not when _he_ wants this so badly.

He says nothing. His arms are tight with tension, the manacles holding even as he strains. She kisses his cheek, his mouth, letting him shudder against her as he tries-- and fails-- to put even an inch more slack into them.

“Kira--”

For his protesting, his cock twitches against her hand as she strokes him. He hasn’t lost a fraction of that thick hardness, and she admires him for a second as she shifts to better palm him, watching the thick vein along the underside pulse in time with his heartbeat. She wonders if she’ll feel it throbbing like that inside of her. The thought makes her cunt clench.

She leans up on her knees again, holding her breath. This time, the gasp from below her is almost like a sob, but she ignores it because pressing him into her is almost too much. _Force_ , he’s big. She has to grit her teeth and close her eyes, not daring to exhale until she pushes all the way down, taking him inside her.

For an instant, she leaves him there, shuddering, before opening her eyes to look at his face. Ben’s expression is lost, a haunting mixture of shock and pleasure.

She twists her hips, trying to make herself get used to the feel of him, and his eyes snap shut, the chains groaning as he arches, breathing hard, white-knuckled. He looks...absolutely overcome already, but she isn’t going to settle for that. She wants to break him beneath her, and he will, he _will_ break, she knows it, senses it; he’ll break so beautifully.

“Y _ou’re perfect,”_ she moans, and his hips _jerk_ into hers so sharply that she gasps. But he stops-- stills. The way he fits into her, the way he burns...it’s like he fills every place she’s broken, been made to lock into her. She leans forward to touch his face, tracing the sticky-warm trails along the sides of his temples. His Force signature is frantic, frayed, but she wants to shatter him completely. She wants more than just that shock, than the surprising spiral of emotion he has for her that threatens to overwhelm him.  

So she leans forward to bite the graceful line of his collarbone, nearly hard enough to break skin. “ _Don’t come.”_

 _That_ surprises him. His chin jerks down, his breath is coming faster in time with how her hips are picking up speed as she bears down on him, and it’s all too much-- her mouth from before, the building pleasure now.

“ _Don’t,_ ” she warns him, and he closes his eyes tightly.

She should give him some reason as to _why,_ some threat, some motivation. But it turns out, she can’t-- her breath is faltering, driven out of her by her body’s urge to rock into him harder, faster. And she doesn’t _need_ to-- because she can sense him drawing up, see him grit his teeth as he tries to bite back the climbing pleasure on her order alone.

 _Oh,_ the fact that he tries makes heat climb through her like wildfire.

The burn between her thighs is lessening, replaced with pleasure. She squeezes down on him, tightening every muscle she has, forcing the exhale from her lungs and Ben _moans_ loudly beneath her.

“ _Kira--”_

“ _You can,”_ she manages, tasting his sweat, resisting the urge to hurt him, to drag her fingernails down his sweaty skin this time and draw blood. “ _Be good-- be so good for me-- you’re mine--”_

Her reassurance, however, is a fatal mistake. With those words, his hips jerk into hers, and she can sense it an instant before it happens-- it’s over. That instant gives her the opportunity to open her eyes, though, and she watches him come inside her, the way every muscle in him seems to go taunt. The chains around his wrists actually groan as he arches, trembling as he pours himself into her. Spills into her.

It’s a long moment, but it’s still over too soon. He collapses beneath her, panting, and she shivers, her cunt still aching like a bruise, wanting him. She swallows her disappointment and buries it into the hollow of his throat as she catches her breath.

The first thing he manages is her name. The second--

“ _I’m sorry.”_

He looks it. He looks utterly _destroyed,_ and so beautiful, and she has to bite her lip hard even as she instantly forgives him. His skin is hot and sticky and she traces her lips up to his ear, kissing softly before she thinks better and _bites_ until Ben flinches. “ _You’re lucky you’re so pretty when you come,”_  she murmurs, so she can hear his breath hitch. Good. She’s aching, throbbing,  and part of her wants to slide her hand down and finish herself, but instead she eases off him. She settles a little higher, her legs still spread open to span his waist before she reaches behind herself and grasps his slowly-softening cock in her palm.

His wrists are red from where the metal of the manacles had rubbed them raw, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His skin is flushed, all the way from his cheeks to his chest, pupils blown out. He’s still coming off his high, too jarred by everything to catch up or even look at her, and that’s not what she wants. She grasps him harder in her palm and strokes him, using the slick mess of their bodies to ease her hand and he _chokes._

“We’re not done.”

It’s too much for him right now. He loses that momentary languidness, jolting upward as much as he can as she bears down on him. “ _Please.”_

“I told you not to,” she says, ignoring him. Seeing him twist like this only reawakens the heat in her belly. She gentles her hand, but only a little, only enough so he can find enough strength to meet her gaze.

His eyes are still dark, more pupil than iris, and it takes a second for him to understand. It’s _fascinating--_ half a dozen emotions flicker through him, some she can identify through his expression, and others she reads in their connection. Confusion. Curiosity. Frustration. Lust. And-- embarrassment, thick and real, coating everything. It burns through his skin, uncontrollable.

“I wanted to come with you inside me.” She says it more to taunt him, to see him flush more. He does, but then-- he sucks in a breath, glancing down where she’s still spread open to him, and his fingers curl.

“Let me... let me touch you.”

_Oh._

It’s tempting, if only for a minute. Her hand actually falters on his cock until she catches herself and resumes the slow, even rhythm. The whine it drags out of him is laughable. “I’m not undoing the cuffs. I’m not an idiot.”

He blinks, and she realizes that maybe the thought of escape hadn’t even occurred to him yet, and his offer had been genuine. It’s actually sweet. She gentles her hand a little, but then reaches down to cup his balls, testing their weight in her palm. He shudders.

“Then let me--” she watches his face with interest, concentrating on the way his eyes flick shut as he tries to guard against the stimulation, on the way his throat works tight. “Let me...with my mouth.” That suggestion actually makes her pause, makes her skin heat. He notices her hesitation and opens his eyes, the look in them feverish. “ _Please.”_

The way her stomach-- and lungs, and heart-- string up to that added word point to how she _shouldn’t_ let him. She bites her bottom lip, hard. “I’m not letting you go.”

“Don’t.” The word leaves him quickly, almost involuntarily. This time, she's the one who nearly moans. His lips are still red and flushed, from their kiss, from where she’d nipped at him, and his own teeth when she’d rode him hard and he’d tried to keep from coming. He hadn’t been gentle with himself, either. The thought of him turning that mouth on her, like _that…_

She shivers. Her hands caress his cock one more time before finally releasing him, watching him slump back in relief as she shifts. She has to navigate around his arms, managing to widen her stance to encompass them as he tucks in closer. It’s just wide enough that she can support herself, the edges of the platform digging into her knees, but she pushes that out of her mind.

Ben’s watching her. And again, there's that mixture of emotion that she barely needs the Force to understand, because his expression is so open to her. Fear, and _lust…_

Her hand slide into his hair, to pull him forward, but it isn't necessary. He's already leaning up, as much as he possibly can, burying his mouth and his tongue against her and-- _oh._

She jolts. Everything _in_ her jolts, nearly throwing her forward, nearly throwing her balance off completely as the world upends. His lips eagerly wrap around her folds, the intensity almost too much.

The thought belatedly occurs that he'll taste her arousal as well as himself, and it nearly unseats her. It's impossible to check herself this time as she moans.

Her grip tightens on his hair in warning and she eases back a little, shifting until she gets him where she wants him-- his tongue wet, hot, perfect. It’s easy to guide him like this, and he’s eager. He nearly devours her, and she wonders again what would it be like if she let him go-- would he try? Would he fuck her back, hard enough to hurt? She doesn’t know what would be better. This isn’t the same as how he’d felt inside her, and while she misses the heavy thickness of him inside her, there are other sensations to concentrate on.

He learns quickly. Every cry she makes is compounded as he strains up against her, tasting her, meeting the subtle rocking of her hips. The heat between her thighs had flagged when he’d slipped out of her was back, but twists now with an empty ache that was nearly to the point of pain.

Pain’s a familiar friend. And with it came its opposite-- a delirious counterpoint of the sweetness of his mouth, and the way he moans into her. The way his fingertips curl against his chains. It makes her breath catch.

She wants to stay like this forever.

She can’t, though. It’s too much, far too much, and she’d already been close before. The pleasure is relentless, and she chases it, one hand pressing him up just _there_ , where she wants him, grinding down without any thought other than that dizzying edge of pleasure until she falls forward, trembling from the effort to remain upright. Ben takes the opportunity to capture her clit between his lips and it’s over.

She has to brace herself against the platform to keep from falling, gripping the edge first and then somehow blindly finding his, gripping his hands as tight as she can as she moans a curse.

_Force._

It takes a second for her to come down, and he gasps when she finally releases him. She uses the last of her strength to push herself down, willing herself not to let gravity win by sinking onto the floor. He’s wide enough beneath her that she can settle comfortably above him, with a bit of balance, and she twines around him like a vine before burying her gasps against the hollow of his throat. Almost blindly, she let her fingertips trail down his skin to find the web of red welts she’d left behind. They’re still there. They mark him _._

 _Fuck Snoke,_ something in her head spits. She tightens her thighs around his hips and squeezes, the old stubbornness that was burned into her by the Jakku sun uncurling from somewhere deep inside her. It’s _her_ name carved into his skin. _Fuck his plans for the Resistance and the Skywalkers and the Jedi Order._

Kira lets her fingertips slide down between the sweaty slick of their bodies pressed together to touch those marks. Their perfection is only marred by the fact that they’ll fade and she’ll have to redraw them again. But she will. She's his. And this Jedi is hers.

She’s keeping him for herself.


End file.
